THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SHORT  FLIGHTS 


MEREDITH  NICHOLSON 


With  a  -weak,  uncertain  wing 
And  a  short  flight,  faltering 
Like  a  heart  afraid  to  sing. 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  CO 
1891 


Copyright  1890 
BY 

MEREDITH  NICHOLSON 


fi 


TO  MY  UNCLE 

WILLIAM  MORTON  MEREDITH 


S01553 


CONTENTS 

INVOCATION— To  THE  SEASONS  xi 

SAT  EST  VIXISSE i 

SONG 3 

'Tis  NEVER  NIGHT  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAIN 5 

ESTRANGED      7 

WHEN  FRIENDS  ARE  PARTED 8 

WHEREAWAY 9 

A  SECRET n 

DISAPPOINTMENT 13 

STRIVING 14 

AN  IDOLATER 16 

LOVE'S  MIDAS  TOUCH    .        .                 17 

IN  ETHER  SPACES            18 

MY  PADDLE  GLEAMED 20 

FAITHLESS „ 21 

GRAPE  BLOOM 22 

ILL-STARRED 23 

THE  SOLDIER  HEART <,        .  25 

AN  UNWRITTEN  LETTER         ..........  37 

MY  LADY  OF  THE  GOLDEN  HEART 28 

DREAMS 30 

CARDINAL  NEWMAN 31 

ON  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 32 


CONTENTS. 


WATCHING  THE  WORLD  Go  BY 34 

RIGHTEOUS  WRATH 36 

SUNSET 37 

RONDEAU  OF  EVENTIDE 38 

A  PRINCE'S  TREASURE 39 

DIEU  Vous  GARDE 41 

SWEETHEART  TIME 42 

THE  ROAD  TO  HAPPINESS 44 

GUARDING  SHADOWS 46 

ART'S  LESSON 47 

IN  THE  SHADOW 48 

"LEAD,  KINDLY  LIGHT" «...  50 

SONGS  AND  WORDS 51 

FOR  A  NEW  YEAR'S  MORN 53 

THREE  FRIENDS 54 

A  RHYME  OF  LITTLE  GIRLS 57 

THE  BATTLES  GRANDSIRE  MISSED 59 

BARRED 61 

A  SLUMBER  SONG 62 

BEFORE  THE  FIRE .  64 

OCTOBER .  66 

IN  WINTER  I  WAS  BORN 68 

GOOD  NIGHT  AND  PLEASANT  DREAMS     ......  69 

WHERE  LOVE  WAS  NOT .       .       .  71 

DOWN  THE  AISLES 73 

R<;IN 74 

HALF  FLIGHTS 76 

A  KIND  OF  MAN 77 

TRANSFIGURED ,  78 


CONTENTS. 


LOVE'S  POWER 79 

FlRE-HUNTING 80 

HEARTACHE 81 

FRIENDSHIP'S  SACRAMENT 83 

OMAR  KHAYYAM 84 

A  DISCOVERY  86 

SONNETS 

A  MODERN  PURITAN 89 

THE  LAW  OF  LIFE 90 

To  EUGENE  FIELD  IN  ENGLAND 91 

DEPENDENCE 

BY  SHERIDAN'S  GRAVE 

VIKING 


92 
93 


94 


95 


VIOLIN 

WHAT  THE  BABIES  SAY 96 

SECRETS 97 

BLIND 98 

A  FANCY 99 

THOREAU ,       ,       .  100 


SHORT  FLIGHTS 


INVOCATION. 


TO  THE  SEASONS. 

SEASONS  that  pass  me  by  in  varied  mood, 
As  on  the  impressionable  land  you  leave  a  trace, 
Molding  sometime  a  delicate  flowers  sweet  face, 
Touching  again  with  green  the  somber  wood, 
Or  drawing  all  beneath  a  snowy  hood, — 
Am  I  not  worthy  as  they  to  have  a  place 
In  your  remembrance?  Am  I  made  too  base 
To  know  what  weed  and  thorn  have  understood? 

Fair  vernal  time,  I  need  your  quickening 

Even  as  the  sleeping  Earth!    O  summer  heat 
Make  flow  or  and  fruit  in  me  that  I  may  bring 
Full  hands  to  Autumn  when  above  me  beat 

The  serious  winds;  and  Winter,  make  me  strong 
Like  the  glad  music  of  your  battle  song! 


SAT  EST  VIXISSE. 

I. 

To  have  lived ! 
To  have  felt  a  quickened  beat 

Of  the  heart  in  spring; 
To  have  known  that  something  sweet 

Moved  the  birds  to  sing; 
To  have  seen  dim  waves  of  heat 
O'er  a  field  of  green  retreat ! 


To  have  found  the  hiding-place 

Of  the  wild  wood  rose; 
To  have  held,  a  little  space, 
Any  flower  that  grows; 
To  have  known  a  moment's  grace 
Looking  in  a  loved  one's  face 

To  have  lived,  to  have  lived ! 


SAT  EST  VIXISSE. 


Still,  doth  it  suffice  alone 

That  the  world  is  fair? 
O'er  what  fields  have  these  hands  sown? 

Are  they  gold  or  bare? 
And  though  all  the  flowers  are  flown, 
If  to  God  my  heart  is  known, 
Then  shall  I  in  truth  be  shown 

How  to  live,  why  to  live ! 


SONG. 


SONG. 

GLAD  and  sad  make  rhyme,  my  dear, 
Glad  and  sad  make  rhyme. 
Though  the  sun  may  not  appear, 

Though  there  be  a  time 
When  the  hours  are  very  long, 

And  there  is  no  joy  for  you, 
Weave  this  thought  into  a  song: 

Glad  and  sad  make  jingle  true — 
Happy  jingle  true ! 

They  are  joined  together,  dear, 

Joined  together  they, 
Like  the  dark  sky  and  the  clear 

Of  an  April  day. 
Like  the  grief  that  dies  in  gladness 

Turmoil  into  peace  will  grow, 
Soon  there  is  an  end  of  sadness — 

Glad  and  sad  make  rhyme,  you  know, 
Perfect  rhyme,  you  know. 


SONG, 


They  make  perfect  rhyme,  my  dear, 

Perfect  as  can  be; 
Falling  sweet  upon  the  ear, 

Telling  you  and  me 
That  the  thorn  and  rose  are  wed, 

That  night  holds  in  store  the  dawn, 
And  till  hope  and  trust  are  dead 

Glad  and  sad  will  jingle  on, 
Jingle,  jingle  on! 


» TIS  NE VER  NIGHT  IN  LOVE'S  D OMA1N.      5 


'TIS  NEVER  NIGHT  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAIN. 

JT""* WAS  morning  when  one  found  his  way 

A       Within  the  garden  lands  of  love. 
He  lingered  till  he  thought  the  day 
Should  surely  unto  night  yield  sway, 

But  morning's  sun  still  shone  above 
In  skies  unmarred  by  evening's  gray, 

While  on  the  air  rang  this  refrain — 
'Tis  never  night  in  love's  domain. 

Love's  palace  beauteous  is,  and  tall, 

And  broad,  and  grand  is  his  estate, 
Gay  courtiers  throng  each  spacious  hall 
Where  laughing  echoes  ceaseless  fall 

And  mock  the  silent  outcast,  hate, 
Who  ever  cowers  by  post  and  wall, 

And  scowls  as  rings  the  glad  refrain — 
'Tis  never  night  in  love's  domain. 


'TIS  NEVER  NIGHT  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAIN. 


And  thence  through  groves  with  myrtle  grown 

He  followed  Venus'  dove-drawn  car 
By  paths  he  ne'er  before  had  known, 
And  yet,  the  morning  had  not  flown, 

And  yet,  fresh  winds  blew  from  afar 
As  came,  in  ne'er  decreasing  tone, 

The  song  through  which  ran  this  refrain- 
'Tis  never  night  in  love's  domain. 

Ah,  love  of  mine,  how  well  we  know 

The  glories  of  those  garden  lands 
Through  which  Lethean  waters  flow ! 
Oft  we  have  wandered  to  and  fro 

Down  those  bright  halls,  and  seen  the  hands 
Of  tiny  elves  that  beckoned  so 

They  kept  the  time  to  this  refrain — 
'Tis  never  night  in  love's  domain. 


ESTRANGED. 


ESTRANGED. 

IT  was  but  yesterday  that  thou 
Wert  with  love-whispers  eloquent, 
Yet  come  and  look  upon  her  now 
That  life  is  spent. 

How  strangely  white  the  face  hath  grown, 

No  longer  prest  by  kisses  fond; 
Why  turn'st,  now  that  her  soul  hath  flown 
And  rests  beyond? 

Why  enter'st  not  the  darkened  room 

To  touch  again  those  cold,  white  lips — 
So  cold  and  white,  seen  in  the  gloom 
Of  Death's  eclipse? 

Thou  wert  so  loving  once,  but  now 

Take  that  cold  hand  as  lovers  may, 
Imprint  a  kiss  on  that  calm  brow, 
Nor  turn  away. 

It  was  but  yesterday  that  thou 

Wert  with  love-whispers  eloquent — 
Thou  wilt  not  look  upon  her  now 
That  life  is  spent. 


WHEN  FRIENDS  ARE  PARTED. 


WHEN  FRIENDS  ARE  PARTED. 

TIME  keeps  no  measure  when  true  friends  are  parted,  - 
No  record  day  by  day; 

The  sands  move  not  for  those  who,  loyal-hearted, 
Friendship's  firm  laws  obey. 

It  is  not  well  to  note  with  dull  precision 

The  flight  of  days  or  years; 
Memory  depends  not  on  a  proof  by  vision, 

And  has  no  foolish  fears. 

The  migrant  birds  when  they  are  Southward  flying 

Have  no  regrets;  they  go 
Full  of  the  knowledge  born  of  faith  undying, 

That  they  again  shall  know 

The  homes  and  nests  which  they  have  left  behind  them 
Unmarred  by  change  the  while; 

The  Southern  lands  they  seek  will  but  remind  them 
Of  the  North's  summer  smile. 

And  so  I  know  that  you  will  come  to  meet  me 

In  the  old,  well-loved  way; 
That,  though  a  year  go  by,  you  still  will  greet  me 

As  kindly  as  to-day. 


WHEREAWAY. 


WHEREAWAY; 

WHERE  are  you  going  my  bright  blue  eyes, 
My  boy  so  happy-hearted? 
You  are  very  young  and  very  wise, 

And  early  you  have  started. 
Where  is  the  city  you're  bound  for,  lad? 

Come  tell  me  of  it  truly; 
Is  it  one  that  is  fair,  and  one  that  is  glad 

And  was  it  builded  newly? 
Oh,  tell  me  whereaway  my  lad — 
Whereaway? 

The  day  is  fair  and  the  skies  are  blue, 

Come  rest  awhile  and  listen: 
By  far  too  great  is  the  world  for  you, 

The  spires  in  dreams  that  glisten 
Are  far  away  from  this  quiet  place 

With  many  a  mile  between, 
So  rest,  blue  eyes,  for  a  little  space 

Here  where  the  slopes  are  green — 
Oh,  tell  me  whereaway  my  lad — 
Whereaway? 


WHERE  A  WA  K 


Oh,  dim  and  vague  is  the  early  haze 

That  holds  your  world  of  seeming; 
This  day  is  fairer  than  other  days 

Only  in  boyish  dreaming, — 
So  do  not  hasten  but  pause  to  tell 

Why  you  make  such  a  hurry — 
Do  you  want  to  go,  have  you  pondered  well 

About  the  cost  and  worry? 
Oh,  tell  me  whereaway  my  lad — 
Whereaway? 

Oh,  dear  blue  eyes  and  brave  young  heart 

Why  must  you  turn  to  leave  me? 
Am  I  so  old  that  we  now  must  part, 

Why  will  you  go  to  grieve  me? 
But  he  turns  away  with  a  smile  and  nod 

And  will  not  tell  me  truly 
About  the  place  to  which  he  will  plod, 

If  old  or  builded  newly; 
He  does  not  answer  "Where,  my  lad?" 
Whereaway? 


A  SECRET. 


A  SECRET. 

HE  said,  "No  one  shall  ever  learn 
This  secret  that  my  heart  must  keep; 
No  matter  how  the  words  may  burn, 
No  matter  how  my  heart  may  leap, 
No  one  shall  know  I  love  her  so, 
No  one  shall  know,  no  one  shall  know !" 

But  though  his  lips  were  tightly  sealed, 
The  very  birds  his  secret  guessed, 
For  in  his  eyes  it  was  revealed, 

And  in  his  face  it  was  confessed — 
"I  love  her  so,  I  love  her  so, 
But  none  shall  know,  but  none  shall  know?" 

The  wind  soon  found  it  and  ran  on 

To  tell  it  to  the  wondering  flowers, 
And  bear  it  to  the  gates  of  dawn, 

Where  loiter  all  the  coming  hours, 

That  they  might  know  he  loved  her  so, 
That  they  might  know,  that  they  might  know ! 


A  SECRET. 


Some  time  all  secrets  must  unfold, 

And  soon  did  he  a  listener  seek, 
To  whom  his  story  might  be  told 

Before  the  laughing  world  should  speak 
And  tell  her  (if  she  did  not  know!) 
He  loved  her  so,  he  loved  her  so ! 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  13 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 

THE  broad-armed  wave  that  reaches  for  the  land 
Sees  not  the  towering  rock  that  bars  the  way 
Unto  the  longed-for  play-ground  of  the  strand, 

Until,  thrown  back,  it  sees  through  tears  of  spray. 


I4  STRIVING. 


STRIVING. 

IT  is  not  much  that  I  can  do, 
My  hands  are  weak, 
The  lines  they  draw  seem  never  true; 
The  works  I  speak 

Are  not  the  ones  I  long  to  say, — 
I  speak  not  prayers  I  long  to  pray. 

It  is  no  coward  spirit,  no — 

I  try  to  learn 

How  others  bravely  strive  and  go 
Rewards  to  earn, 

And  yet  success  is  never  mine — 
I  labor  on  a  false  design. 

They  are  not  much,  these  little  things 

That  form  my  task, 
Yet  constant  seeking  never  brings 
What  I  would  ask, 

And  of  what  use  is  life  to  one 
Who  never  knew  a  victory  won? 


STRIVING. 


But  this  one  thing  I  know,  that  He 

Who  guides  the  stars 
Will  look  in  charity  on  me 
And  see  the  scars 

Which  show  that  I  have  tried  to   trace 
A  path  that  weeds  could  not  efface. 


16  AN  IDOLATER. 


AN  IDOLATER. 

I  READ  of  pagan  priests  in  idols  hiding, 
That  with  their  own  lips  they  might  make  reply 
To  prayers  of  worshippers  in  them  confiding — 
To  vouchsafe  or  deny. 

And  all  idolatry  has  not  departed; 

For  yet  I  faith  in  one  fair  idol  hold, 
Unlike  those  of  the  heathen,  hollow-hearted, 
Voiceless,  inert  and  cold; 

But  one  who  dwells,  a  queen,  among  the  living, 

Whose  eyes  light  up,  my  waiting  eyes  to  greet 
And  speak,  before  the  lips,  sweet  answer  giving 

From  her  soul's  judgment  seat. 


LOVERS  MIDAS  TOUCH. 


LOVE'S  MIDAS  TOUCH. 

YOUR  love  has  made  life  dear  to  me; 
Until  you  came  I  did  not  know 
How  beautiful  the  world  could  be — 

How  full  of  joy  its  days  could  grow. 

Once  peace  was  not  in  anything, 

But  love  has  made  life  dear  to  me; 

The  winter  has  given  way  to  spring, 
And  skies  are  fair  and  clear  to  me. 

My  heart  is  listening  when  you  speak; 
To  hold  your  hand  or  touch  your  cheek, — 
Since  love  has  made  life  dear  to  me ! 
Sends  flying  love  and  fear  through  me. 

Glad  is  the  grass  your  feet  have  pressed, 
Your  eyes  throw  joy  on  all  they  see, 

Around  you  there  is  gracious  rest, 

Your  love  has  made  life  dear  to  me. 


1 8  IN  E  THER  SPA  CES. 


IN  ETHER  SPACES. 

O  OMEWHERE  in  space  there  is  a  realm  where  lingers 
<-}    Each  word  that  ever  fell  from  lips  of  man, 
All  music  stirred  to  life  by  touch  of  fingers, 
All  sounds  since  time  began. 

Rumble  of  quaking  earth  and  plains  upturning 

Creation  morn;  the  sullen  beat  of  rain, 
The  coo  of  dove  with  olive-leaf  returning, 
The  stir  of  life  again. 

A  Child's  soft  treble  in  the  temple,  heeded 

By  doctors  who  about  him  listening  drew; 
"Father,  forgive  them,"  on  dark  Calvary  pleaded, 
"They  know  not  what  they  do." 

The  songs  are  there  which  echoed  through  dim  ages, 
And  chants  of  kneeling  priests  at  pagan  shrines, 
The  speech  of  prophets  writ  on  history's  pages 
In  God-directed  lines. 


IN  ETHER  SPACES.  19 

There  dormant  dwells  the  roar  of  battle  royal, 

The  clash  of  arms  amid  war's  furnace  flame, 
Victorious  cries  of  warriors  brave  and  loyal, 
A  people's  loud  acclaim; 

With  words  that  gladdened  hearts  of  earliest  lovers, 

And  curses  since  night's  robes  trailed  Eden's  sky, 
While  vague  as  half-remembered  dreams  there  hovers 
Each  mother's  lullaby. 

O  sounds  afar  in  ether  spaces  dwelling, 

In  mighty  minstrelsy  awake !  Unite 

In  chords  the  story  of  the  aeons  telling 

Since  stars  first  gemmed  the  night. 


MY  PADDLE  GLEAMED. 


MY  PADDLE  GLEAMED. 

MY  paddle  gleamed,  the  light  canoe 
The  river's  waters  glided  through 
With  scarce  a  sound  to  fret  the  air; 
The  sun  shone  bright,  the  morn  was  fair 
And  from  the  South  soft  breezes  blew. 

Overhead  the  swallows  darting  flew, 

Then  dropt  to  earth  to  brush  the  dew 
From  off  the  tangled  grasses  there, 
My  paddle  gleamed ! 

In  form  as  perfect,  fresh  and  new 
As  when  they  first  in  Eden  grew 

God's  gifts,  before,  lay  everywhere; 

Behind,  the  city's  toil  and  care; 
Content,  I  joy's  full  measure  knew — 

My  paddle  gleamed ! 


FAITHLESS. 


FAITHLESS. 

AH,  yes !  Thy  love  was  like  the  stars,  but  not 
Like  faithful  stars  which   gleam  with  steadfast  light, 
But  as  a  darting  aerolite,  swift  shot 

Across  the  blackness  of  a  sombre  night, 
Fading  as  quickly,  and  as  soon  forgot. 


GRAPE  BLOOM. 


GRAPE  BLOOM. 

1WALK  'mid  vines  which  rest  upon 
An  arbor  o'er  a  garden  way 
Where  southern  breezes  come  to  play 
And  never-ending  races  run. 

The  dew  drips  from  the  clustering  vines, 
A  swallow  like  a  shuttle  cleaves 
The  air  above  and  vainly  weaves 

His  fancies  into  unseen  lines. 

But  stealing  forth  and  dwelling  there 
Within  the  shadows  of  the  walk, 
A  perfume  comes  as  when  gods  talk 

And  their  glad  breathings  fill  the  air. 

Scarce  seen  among  the  vines  the  shapes 
That  hold  and  throw  the  rare  perfume- 
The  tiny  bits  of  early  bloom 

Presageful  of  the  coming  grapes. 

And  when  they  ripened  grace  the  vine, 
That  sweetness  shall  return  again, 
Like  hopes  fulfilled  to  trustful  men, 

And  have  new  life  in  autumn's  wine. 


ILL-STARRED.  23 


ILL-STARRED. 

OH,  prayers  and  sympathetic  tears 
For  each  and  every  ill-starred  knight 
For  whom  ring  no  victorious  cheers; 
For  those  who,  early  in  the  fight, 
Saw  daylight  turning  into  night 
And  yielded  up  to  Fate  their  spears. 

The  dented  shield,  the  pierced  cuirass, 
Sad  story  is  it    that  they  tell 

Of  brave  young  knights  whose  hopes,  alas! 
Bore  meagre  fruit;  who  fighting  fell 
Before  the  foe  they  could  not  quell; 

Who  found  no  wine  within  the  glass. 

For  some  there  are  but  ill-equipped 

To  face  the  world;  some  weak  of  will 

And  soon  faint-hearted,  feeble-lipped, 
Fit  but  the  lowest  posts  to  fill, 
Some  shivering  with  the  coward's  chill, 

And  of  the  armor  "courage"  stripped. 


24  ILL-STARRED. 


Oh,  you  'gainst  whom  the  fates  are  set, 

E'en  though  you've  failed  on  every  field 

To  gain  fair  honor's  banneret, 

Let  high  above  be  held  each  shield, 
Each  one  with  purpose  strong  annealed, 

And  all  shall  win  a  victory  yet. 


THE  SOLDIER  HEART.  25 


THE  SOLDIER  HEART. 

ONE  day  in  careless  wise  I  said: 
"They  were  no  heroes,  they  who  bled 
To  save  the  Nation  and  to  free  the  slave; 
There  is  no  honor  now  in  being  brave;" 
And  thought  not  how  my  father  hearing  me — 
(He  who  had  fought  with  Sherman  to  the  sea, 
True  as  a  knight  of  storied  chivalry), 
Would  feel  the  sting  my  words  conveyed,  as  though 
I  deemed  the  venture  of  his  life  should  go 
A  thing  unworthy  of  remembrance.     Then 
His  look  of  pain  (soft  are  the  hearts  of  men!) 
Made  me  think  deeply  of  the  soldier's  part, 
(As  when  on  Memory's  day  the  quick  tears  start 
To  see  the  line  each  spring  becoming  less, 
The  slowing  step,  heads'  winter  snowiness !) 
And  vowed  I  then  that  while  my  blood  should  run 
I  should  not  be  a  son 

To  speak  a  word  not  kindly  of  a  soldier  true; 
To  utter  naught  but  praise  of  all  who  dared  to  do, 
Whether  in  mail  of  gray  or  clad  in  honest  blue! 


26  THE  SOLDIER  HEART. 

He  who  cares  not 

That  his  sire  fought; 

He  who  shall  think  not  proudly  of  the  days 

His  father  felt  the  blaze 

Of  war's  red  furnace  flame  against  his  cheek, 

Has  but  a  coward's  heart,  too  poor  and  weak 

To  throw  the  blood  through  faltering  limb — 

Earth  has  no  place  for  him ! 

While  there  is  hearth  and  home  to  save, 
'Tis  something  to  be  brave — 
'Tis  something  to  have  ventured  near  to  Death, 
And  felt  his  chilling  breath! 


AN  UNWRITTEN  LETTER.  27 


AN  UNWRITTEN  LETTER. 

SHE  wrote  a  letter  with  her  eyes, 
Well-filled  with  words  of  bliss; 
Then,  like  a  prudent  maid  and  wise, 
She  sealed  it  with  a  kiss. 


28        MY  LADY  OF  THE  GOLDEN  HEART. 

MY  LADY  OF  THE  GOLDEN  HEART. 

MY  lady  of  the  golden  heart,  she  comes  each  day 
Down  by   the  lodge-gate   that  I  keep;   she   comes  de- 
murely, 
And  her  two  hounds  sedate  do  follow  and  obey 

Her  slightest  wish,  and  they  do  love  my  lady  surely. 

She  comes  each  day,  my  lady  of  the  golden  heart, 

Sometimes  a-riding  or  sometimes  she  comes  a-walking; 

The  birds  along  the  hedge  they  do  not  even  start 

When  she  comes  by,  sometimes  to  her  big  hounds  a-talking. 

"Good  morrow"  says  my  lady,  (she  whose  heart  is  gold), 
And  gold  out  of  her  heart  makes  bright  the  gateway; 

The  sunshine  of  her  face  in  winter  time  does  hold 

Green  meadows  and  sweet  flowers  and   makes   a   summer 
straightway. 

My  lady,  she  whose  heart  is  gold,  my  lady  goes 

Each  day  into  the  village,  bread  and   good  wine   bearing 

To  those  that  sick  be,  and  my  gentle  lady  knows 

All  of  the  village  folk  and  for  them  she  be  caring. 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  GOLDEN  HEART.         29 

Now  as  she  comes  each  day,  (gold  is  my  lady's  heart), 

Or  goes  away  upon  some  errand  Heaven  has  sent  her, 

The  gates  of  my  poor  heart,  they  do  fly  far  apart, 

But  there  my  lady  fair  and  sweet,  she  will  not  enter. 


30  DREAMS. 


DREAMS. 

LIKE  shadow- freighted  ships  which  softly  creep 
Across  some  far-off  ghostly  main, 
They  haunt  the  chambers  of  the  brain, 
And  kiss  their  fingers  to  the  watchman,  Sleep ! 


CARDINAL  NEWMAN.  31 


CARDINAL    NEWMAN. 

"To  the  last   I  never  recognized  the  hold  I  had  over  young 
men." — Apologia  pro  Vita  Sua. 

NO  more  the  sun  may  know  the  strength  it  hath 
To  stir  the  bark  in  spring  with  quickening  blood: 
No  more  a  storm  controlleth  its  great  wrath, 
Or  doleth  out  the  measure  of  its  flood ! 

There  is  a  quality  of  lasting  youth 

That  knoweth  not  the  force  that  gave  it  birth; 
Some  souls  God  pointeth  subtler  ways  of  truth, 

As  highest  tribute  to  their  lasting  worth. 

He  hath  in  souls  like  thine  deposited 

A  quenchless  flame  as  calm  and  strong  as  dawn ; 

Across  the  world  thy  potent  fire  is  shed, 

Born  of  the  "kindly  light"  that  leadeth  on ! 


32  ON  THE  MEDITERRANEAN. 


ON  THE   MEDITERRANEAN. 

THE  GREEK  GIRL'S  SONG. 

TO-DAY  my  lover  tends  his  flocks; 
He  roams  with  them  through  fragrant  meads, 
Arid  guides  across  the  barren  rocks; 

With  his  own  hands  the  lambs  he  feeds, 
And  soothes  them  when  the  winds  are  cold 
Or  terror  comes  among  the  fold. 
They  soon  forget  the  night's  alarms 
When  folded  in  his  shielding  arms. 

So  good  and  true  to  them  is  he 
I  know  he  will  be  kind  to  me. 

My  lover  walks  in  paths  of  peace, 

He  would  avoid  the  conflict's  noise 

And  bid  the  warring  legions  cease. 
He  is  content  with  simple  joys; 

He  fain  would  always  journey  through 

Tall  grasses  shining  in  the  dew 

And  tend  his  sheep  and  dream  his  dreams 
Beside  the  quiet  mountain  streams; 


ON  THE  MEDITERRANEAN.  33 

So  faithful  is  his  love  of  home 
His  heart  I  know  can  never  roam. 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  SONG. 
As  fair  as  the  flocks  that  graze 

There  'gainst  the  hill's  restful  side; 
As  sweet  as  the  breath  of  night 
When  across  dim  flowery  ways 
Pours  a  mellifluous  tide, 

Winging  an  odorous  flight: 

Thus  is  the  maiden  who  sends 
Songs  to  the  shepherd  who  tends 
Sheep  by  the  streams,  and  who  dies 
In  the  delight  of  her  eyes. 

Down  by  the  shore  in  the  night 

Rush  the  great  breakers,  nor  cease 

Oft  till  the  dawn  lights  the  crest; 
And  so  is  love  in  its  might, 

Stirring  my  soul  from  its  peace, 
Leaving  the  shepherd  no  rest. 

Oh,  if  the  sheep  could  but  learn 
For  me  the  answer  I  yearn ! 
Come,  my  fair  flock,  we  shall  see 
What  is  the  answer  for  me ! 


34  WATCHING  THE  WORLD  GO  BY. 


WATCHING  THE  WORLD  GO  BY. 

£>  WIFT  as  a  meteor  and  as  quickly  gone 
v3    A  train  of  cars  darts  swiftly  through  the  night; 
Scorning  the  wood  and  field  it  hurries  on, 
A  thing  of  wrathful  might. 

There,  from  a  farmer's  home  a  woman's  eyes, 

Roused  by  the  sudden  jar  and  passing  flare, 
Follow  the  speeding  phantom  till  it  dies, — 
An  echo  on  the  air. 

Narrow  the  life  that  always  has  been  hers 

The  evening  brings  a  longing  to  her  breast; 
Deep  in  her  heart  some  aspiration  stirs 
And  mocks  her  soul's  unrest. 

Her  tasks  are  mean  and  endless  as  the  days, 

And  sometimes  love  cannot  repay  all  things; 
An  instrument  that  rudely  touched  obeys 
Becomes  discordant  strings. 


WATCHING  THE  WORLD  GO  BY.  35 

The  train  that  followed  in  the  headlight's  glare, 
Bound  for  the  city  and  a  larger  world, 

Made  emphasis  of  her  poor  life  of  care 
As  from  her  sight  it  whirled. 

Thus  from  all  lonely  hearts  the  great  earth  rolls^ 
Indifferent  though  one  woman  grieve  and  die. 

Along  its  iron  track  are  many  souls 
That  watch  the  world  go  by. 


36  RIG  PITEOUS  WRATH. 


RIGHTEOUS  WRATH. 

HOW  splendid  is  the  righteous  wrath 
Born  in  a  good  man's  soul ! 
Ignoble  things  fly  from  his  path, 

Loud  thunders  round  him  roll, — 
Yet  tenderness  and  love  he  hath. 

Like  some  gigantic  forest  fire, 
His  mighty  anger  sweeps; 

An  eager  flame  of  awful  ire, 
At  every  wrong  it  leaps, — 

Still,  lasting  peace  he  doth  desire. 

Then,  swift  as  flies  the  meteor's  spark, 

His  anger  disappears; 
Born  for  the  hour  it  met  its  mark, — 

He  sootheth  now  love's  fears, 
While  wrong  sits  trembling  in  the  dark ! 


SUNSET.  37 


SUNSET. 

TWO  giants  meet  upon  the  hills 
And  one  is  day,  the  other  night; 
The  trees  draw  near,  the  sky  leans  down 
To  watch  their  test  of  might. 

I  cannot  see  them  struggling  there, 
But  soon  I  know  that  one  is  dead, 

For  lo !  the  trees  and  hills  and  sky 
Are  suddenly  splashed  with  red ! 


38  RONDEAU  OF  EVENTIDE. 


RONDEAU  OF  EVENTIDE. 

AT  eventide  when  we  are  prest 
By  shadows  and  seek  any  rest 
That  twilight  brings  at  waning  day, 
Ah,  well  with  us  if  we  can  say 
For  aye  we  sought  and  found  the  best. 

God's  hand  all  nature  has  caressed 
Till  beauty  is  his  love  confessed, 

Till  bud  and  bloom  his  love  display 
Through  eventide. 

Why  should  we  not  pursue  our  quest 
For  such  good  things  as  bear  the  test 

The  things  worth  loving  bear  alway  ? 

"Full  life,  full  life,"  we  sometimes  pray, 
Full  life  to  higher  life  addressed, 
Till  eventide! 


A  PRINCE'S  TREASURE.  39 

A  PRINCE'S  TREASURE. 

fTo  His-Royal  Highness,  Russell  Fortune.] 

OUR  little  prince  can't  understand 
That  this  is  one  of  many  springs; 
He  thinks  these  days  for  him  are  planned, 
And  that  for  him  the  robin  sings. 

All  wonder-eyed  he  walks  afield 

And  makes  an  invoice  of  the  joys 

God  strews  around  for  little  boys, 
And  thinks  for  him  they're  first  revealed. 

It  is  a  solemn  thing  to  him ! 

He  wonders  if  it's  right  to  pull 

The  little  wild  flowers  beautiful 
That  in  the  sea  of  grasses  swim. 

More  gentle  than  the  violet, 

He  studies  o'er  those  eyes  of  blue — 

Blue  as  his  eyes  are  brown,  and  wet 

As  his,  sometimes,  are  wet  with  dew ! 


40  A  PRINCESS  TREASURE. 

Appreciative  eyes  are  his ! 

Into  his  apron  takes  he  all 

The  flowers  that  to  his  hand  may  fall — 

The  poorest  weed  so  precious  is ! 

His  feet  leave  but  the  vaguest  hints 
Of  steps  along  the  shadows  where 
The  knightly  trees  bend  down  and  swear 

Allegiance  to  their  little  prince. 

O  gentle,  princely  lad  of  ours, 

May  nature  ever  hold  your  heart, 
And  knowledge  of  her  ways  impart 

Through  lessons  of  the  spring-time  flowers; 

May  spring  itself  pass  ever  on 

And  never  lead  to  summer's  dust, 

But  make  your  life  an  endless  dawn, 

With  endless  love,  and  faith,  and  trust ! 


DIEU  VOUS  GARDE.  41 


DIEU  VOUS  GARDE. 

MAY  Allah  in  thy  heart  unfold 
Perpetual-blooming  roses; 
May  His  sweet  peace  to  thee  increase 
Until  the  evening  closes. 

And  may  tall  palms  before  thee  rise, 
Hot  sand  to  gardens  turning; 

May  dates  and  wine  be  always  thine, 
Amid  the  desert's  burning. 

Let  enemies  be  put  to  flight, 
Before  thy  spear  uplifted, 

And  may  thy  way  be  as  a  day 
From  starry  vistas  drifted. 

Oh,  Allah  watches  through  the  night, 
His  trustful  children  viewing; 

His  love  is  deep,  but  he  will  keep 
Renewing  and  renewing. 


SWEETHEART  TIME. 


SWEETHEART  TIME. 

i 

IT  is  a  time  before  the  rose 
Has  blossomed  to  its  form  complete; 
Before  the  hidden  fragrance  knows 
How  rare  it  is,  and  sweet. 

A  time  it  is  when  hearts  are  light, 

And  shadows  are  a  thing  as  far 
Away  as  darkness  from  the  sight 

Of  evening's  brightest  star. 

There  is  an  undertone  of  song 

Vague,  like  the  mists  of  early  day; 
An  undertone  that  steals  along, 
Forever  far  away. 


The  walls  that  guard  King  Love's  fair  home 

Are  tall  and  strong;  yet  cannot  hold 
From  those  who  by  the  gateway  roam 
Some  share  of  hoarded  gold. 


SWEETHEART  TIME.  43 

So  youth  and  maiden  wandering  near 

In  straying  beams  of  light  are  caught. 
Their  eyes  serene  know  not  the  tear 

Through  fuller  loving  wrought. 

It  lasts  for  just  a  little  while; 

It  is  love's  playtime,  one  brief  hour 
With  tender  sighing  to  beguile — 
A  bud  before  the  flower; 

It  is  a  time  before  the  rose 

Attains  its  fairest  form  complete; 
Before  the  subtle  fragrance  knows 
How  rare  it  is,  and  sweet. 


44  THE  ROAD  TO  HAPPINESS. 


THE  ROAD  TO  HAPPINESS. 

HERE'S  the  path  our  feet  shall  press 
To  the  land  of  happiness; 
There  are  guide-posts  by  the  way 
That  we  may  not  go  astray; 
Spots  there  are  where  we  may  rest, 
Of  King  Happiness  the  guest; 
Basking  in  the  sunshine's  glow, 
While  the  joyous  pilgrims  go 
Ever  onward  to  the  gates 
Where  the  Queen  of  Joy  awaits 
Those  recruits  her  king  shall  gain 
On  the  way  to  his  domain. 

Such  a  joyous  army  this ! 
Banners  leaping  for  a  kiss 
From  the  winds  that  sweep  along 
Bearing  songs  that  well  belong 
To  a  road  whose  glory  lies 
Always  under  sunny  skies. 


THE  ROAD  TO  HAPPINESS.  45 

By  this  road  no  toll  gate  stands 
With  its  ever-barring  hands, 
Yet  of  every  passing  soul 
There  is  asked  a  certain  toll. 
It  is  this — that  we  shall  share, 
As  we  tread  the  thoroughfare, 
All  we  have  with  those  who  lose 
What  they  gain,  or  who  refuse 
To  accept  what  is  bestowed 
By  the  master  of  the  road. 

What  a  simple  engineer 
Marked  this  path !  It  is  so  clear 
That  to  miss  it  is  to  turn 
And  its  cooling  shadows  spurn. 

Any  road  our  feet  may  press 
Is  a  road  to  happiness, 
And  that  land  is  anywhere 
That  we  turn  away  from  care 
To  the  army  of  a  king 
Who  is  ever  journeying 
To  the  city,  by  whose  gates, 
His  fair  queen  of  Joy  awaits. 


46  GUARDING   SHADOWS. 


GUARDING    SHADOWS. 


GRIM  watchmen  are  the  jealous  trees 
Above  their  moon-born  shadows — Thus 
May  foolish  men  guard  mysteries 

Which  they  have  made  mysterious. 


ARTS  LESSON.  47 


ART'S  LESSON. 

O  glorious  marble  statue, 
What  gain  I  looking  at  you? 
Your  beauty  is  so  old, 
You  are  a  form  so  cold 
I  can  not  understand  you 
Nor  feel  for  him  who  planned  you. 
I  easier  lessons  seek 
Than  those  in  chiseled  Greek. 

I  turn  to  you  my  fragrant; 
Bedewed  and  straggling  vagrant, 
You  are  a  simple  flower, 
And  scarce  live  out  the  hour 
Here  in  the  garden  by-way 
(That  still  is  Nature's  highway!) 
Yet  utter  from  the  grass 
Lessons  from  Phidias ! 


48  IN  THE  SHADOW. 


IN  THE   SHADOW. 

I  WOULD  not  have  thee  otherwise, 
O  cloudy  skies; 
I  would  not  change  the  night  to  day 

Nor  drive  away 

The  shadows  that  are  hanging  o'er 
My  hearth  and  door. 

There  is  some  good  that  lurketh  where 
The  lightnings  flare; 

There  is  a  peace  that  bicleth  in 
The  fiercest  din; 

A  vernal  light  doth  look  upon 
Fields  winter-won. 

If  God  were  not  the  Overheart, 

Nor  had  a  part 
In  all  the  wounds  that  hurt  us  so ! 

But  He  doth  know 
And  doth  in  patience  see  and  bless 

In  gentleness. 


IN  THE  SHADOW.  49 

How  sturdy  and  how  great,  O  earth ! 

Within  thy  girth 
Thou  wieldst  what  passion  and  what  pain 

O'er  man's  domain; 
And  yet  within  thy  shadows  blest 

Is  perfect  rest. 

Turn  not  unto  the  light  too  long 

Friend,  with  thy  song! 
Thou  hast  not  need  to  look  afar 

For  hill  or  star; 
Here  in  the  shadow  rest  is  found 

Deep  and  profound. 


50  "LEAD,  KINDL  Y  LIGHT." 


"LEAD,  KINDLY  LIGHT." 


4  4  T    EAD,  kindly  light,"  I  heard  the  glad  bells  ring, 

1— '  And  thought  how  God  existeth  everywhere. 
'Twas  in  a  city  strange  that,  sweetest  thing ! 
"Lead,  kindly  light,"  I  heard  the  glad  bells  ring, 
And  Summer  stole  into  the  early  spring, 

For  where  the  kind  light  leadeth  all  is  fair. 

"Lead,  kindly  light,"  I  heard  the  glad  bells  ring, 

And  thought  how  God  existeth  everywhere. 


SONGS  AND   WORDS.  51 


SONGS  AND  WORDS. 


THE  songs  you  sing,  the  songs  you  sing, 
They  are  such  songs  as  need  not  words, 
They  are  the  songs  that  soar  and  ring 
Like  utterance  of  wildwood  birds. 
The  ear  is  puzzled  at  the  sound — 

They  are  so  far  from  common  art 
That  what  is  best  in  them  is  found 

By  simply  listening  with  the  heart ! 


The  words  you  speak,  the  words  you  speak, 

Have  little  of  philosophy; 
They  voice  not  things  that  wise  men  seek, 

They  have  no  hint  of  poetry, 
And  yet  each  syllable  that  slips 

Up  from  your  soul  and  bubbles  o'er 
The  yielding  gateway  of  your  lips 

A  gracious  meaning  holds  in  store. 


52  SONGS  AND  WORDS. 


m. 

The  songs  you  sing  are  simple  songs, 

Your  words  are  wor.ls  that  children  use 
To  tell  of  love,  complain  of  wrongs; 

You  may  the  guiding  notes  confuse, 
(If  any  notes  e'er  met  your  eyes !) 

They  rise,  and  live,  and  lingering, 
Each  song  and  word  alternate  dies 

In  words  you  speak,  in  songs  you  sing. 


FOR  A  NEW  YEAR'S  MORN.  53 


FOR   A  NEW  YEAR'S  MORN. 

LIKE  some  tired  reader  who  has  put  aside 
His  book  a  little  while,  sick  of  the  tale, 
Careless  a  moment  how  the  plot  may  run, 
Indifferent  to  the  part  he  has  perused, 
Then  with  new  interest  going  back  to  find 
How  fared  it  with  the  story's  people,  so 
Here  at  the  gate  of  this  new  year  I  stand. 
Weary  we  grew  long  since,  my  Comrade  soul ! 
So  tired  we  are  of  all  our  eyes  have  found, 
So  strong  our  yearning  for  new  sights  and  sounds! 
Yet  on  this  morn  the  world  is  fair  again, — 
Ah,  very  fair,  and  full  of  light  and  joy; 
And  holding  forth  new  hope  that  comes  of  faith, 
And  adding  to  our  faith  that  lies  in  God. 
Now,  like  some  traveler  in  a  desert  lost, 
Straining  his  eyes  across  the  wastes  of  sand, 
Then,  sudden,  finding  tracks  but  freshly  made 
That  give  new  courage  to  the  wanderer, — 
So  now,  my  Comrade  soul,  we  turn  away 
From  dreary  wastes,  we  see  the   tracks  that  show 
Where  others  have  gone  on  and  found  the  way 
As  we  can  find  it.  Come,  old  Comrade, — friend ! 
Give  me  your  hand,  we  must  march  on  again ! 


54  THREE  FRIENDS. 

THREE  FRIENDS. 
fPaul  Hamilton  Hayne,  Sidney  Lanier  and  Robert  Burns  Wilson] 

THREE  noble  friends  the  South  has  given  me, 
Two  biding  now  beyond  the  farthest  gate, 
One  living  still,  great-hearted,  soul  elate, 
From  trammeling  passions  free. 

The  twain  now  unbeholden  to  our  eyes, 

Were  soldiers  for  a  cause  they  thought  was  right — 
They  were  such  men  as  set  the  torch  alight 

That   marks  our  destinies; 

Yet,  with  a  song  that  rings  above  the  din 

Of  battle,  and  with  brows  where  there  might  rest 
The  victor's  crown,  or  singer's  wreath,  more  blest, 

Through  hymns  of  peace  to  win. 

I  read  one  morning,  in  a  day  long  gone, 

The  songs  of  Hayne,  all  odorous  of  the  pines; 
The  heart  of  Nature  throbbed  along  the  lines — 

Her  joy  was  in  his  dawn. 


THREE  FRIENDS.  55 

The  hills  and  streams  to  him  were  never  dumb, 

They  gave  their  secrets  to  his  own  heart's  keeping; 
Grand  music  in  the  oaks  and  pines  was   sleeping 

Waiting  for  him  to  come ! 

And  you,  Lanier,  cut  down  like  some  tall  tree 
By  an  insidious  foe — upright  and  strong 
Until  the  last,  and  with  your  parting  song 

From  Deathland  floating  free ! 

Sweet  dawns  were~yours,  bright  noons  and  starry  nights; 
Your  heart  lay  on  the  bosoms  of  the  hills — 
Clear  was  your  soul  as  dew  that  God  distills 

Upon  His  sacred  heights! 

And  you  are  gone,  and  only  one  remains 

Of  the  three  Southern  singers  loved  so  well; 
To-night  the  wind  in  sympathy  would  quell 

The  grief  of  woods  and  plains — 

Saying:  "They  were  our  friends,  they  understood 

The  messages  we  spoke  into  their  ears; 

Now  they  have  passed  beyond  our  hopes  and  fears 
Unto  a  higher  Good." 


56  THREE  FRIENDS. 

But  he  who  still  is  here,  he  well  has  caught 
The  spirit. that  is  Nature's,  and  is  hers 
Only  for  her  most  loved  interpreters — 

Ah,  nobly  he  has  wrought ! 

And  Southern  winds  that  to  the  northward  roam, 
And  misty  stars  that  shine  above  us  dim, 
Each  evening  bring  me  utterance  of  him 

To  nay  far  Northern  home! 


A  RHYME  OF  LITTLE  GIRLS.  57 


A  RHYME  OF  LITTLE  GIRLS. 

PRITHE  tell  me,  don't  you  think 
Little  girls  are  dearest 
With  their  cheeks  of  tempting  pink, 
And  their  eyes  the  clearest? 

Don't  you  know  that  they  are  best 
And  of  all  the  loveliest? 

Of  all  girls  with  roguish  ways 

They  are  surely  truest; 
Sunshine  gleams  through  all  their  days, 
They  see  skies  the  bluest, 

And  they  wear  a  diadem 
Summer  has  bestowed  on  them. 

Lydia  doesn't  care  a  cent 

For  the  newest  dances; 
She  is  not  on  flirting  bent, 
Has  no  killing  glances, 

But  without  the  slightest  art 
She  has  captured  many  a  heart. 


58  A  RHYME  OF  LITTLE  GIRLS. 

Older  sisters  cut  you  dead, 

Little  sisters  never; 
They  don't  giggle  when  they've  said 
S  omething  very  tclever, — 

They  just  get  behind  a  chair, 
Frowning,  smiling  at  you  there. 

Florence,  Lydia,  Margaret 

Or  a  gentle  Mary, 

They  form  friendships  that,  once  set, 
Never  more  can  vary, — 

Stanch  young  friends  they  are  and  true 
Always  clinging  close  to  you. 

Buds  must  into  blossoms  blow, 

(Morn  so  early  leaves  us!) 

Maids  must  into  women  grow, 

(There's  the  thing  that  grieves  us!) 
Psyche  knots  of  flying  curls, 
That's  good-bye  to  little  girls ! 


THE  BATTLES  GRAND  SIRE  MISSED.        59 

THE  BATTLES  GRANDSIRE  MISSED. 

COME,  boy,  and  sit  upon  my  knee. 
And  turn  to  me  your  eyes, 
That  I,  down  in  their  depths  may  see 

A  hint  of  those  blue  skies 
Beneath  which  once  my  father  fought 
(Your  grandsire!  and  I  am  not  old!) 
What  time  our  banner's  stars  were  caught 
In  treason's  eager  hold. 

A  boy,  as  you  are  now  a  boy, 

I  did  not  understand 
That  traitors  could  their  flag  destroy 

And  cut  in  twain  their  land; 
I  heard  the  tramp  of  marching  men, 

So  long  ago  that  seems ! 
You  can  not  know  what  times  were  then 

Though  you  may  guess,  in  dreams. 

And  then  my  father  went  away; 

How  would  it  be  if  I 
Should  leave  you,  boy  of  mine,  to-day — 

Should  leave  you  and  should  die? 


60         THE  BATTLES  GRANDSIRE  MISSED. 

Your  eyes  are  wet;  O  closer  come! 

There  is  no  more  of  war; 
Peace  long  has  shown  that  there  are  some 

Kind  things  to  struggle  for. 

You  "wonder  whether  grandpa  got 

In  all  the  fights?"  Well,  lad, 
It  was  Bull  Run  where  he  was  shot, 

The  first  big  fight  they  had ! 
But  let  us,  you  and  I,  insist 

That  this  of  him  be  said: 
The  only  battles  that  he  missed 

Were  fought  when  he  was  dead. 

"He  would  have  fought,  had  he  been   there?" 

You  ask  of  me,  my  child; 
He  never  would  have  ceased  to  dare 

Those  who  our  flag  defiled. 
And  always,  in  the  spring,  keep  tryst 

With  Memory  by  the  head 
Of  one  who  not  a  battle  missed 

Except  when  he  was  dead. 


BARRED.  61 


BARRED, 

ONE  cheerless  night  when  winter  winds  were  sowing 
Over  the  world  their  cold,  white  seeds  of  snow, 
While  from  my  window  pane  the  fire  was  throwing 
Taunts  to  the  elements  with  its  bright  glow, 

A  poor,  storm-driven  bird,  its  lost  way  winging, 
Paused  when  it  saw  the  flame's  reflected  light; 

Unto  the  window  for  a  moment  clinging, 

Then  downward  fell,  forever  lost  to  sight. 

And  so  it  is,  I  thought,  that  poor  hearts  yearning 
For  more  of  life,  charmed  by  its  outward  sheen, 

Must  backward  fall,  the  truth  too  quickly  learning, 
That  death,  cold  and  unyielding,  stands  between. 


62  A  SLUMBER  SONG. 


A  SLUMBER  SONG. 

BABY,  you  stand  by  a  gate  that  leads 
Into  a  land  of  dreams; 
There's  a  drowsy  watchman  here  who  heeds 

Never  the  straggling  gleams 
Of  light  that  stray  from  the  far-off  sun — 
Always  for  him  it's  twilight  begun — 

And  we  stand  by  the  gate, 
And  watch  and  wait, 
And  watch — and  wait ! 

Little  one,  hear  what  the  stream  sings  of, 

Here  in  this  quiet  land; 
It  sings  of  the  joy  of  mother  love — 

Sings  to  birds  in  the  sand — 
To  the  strange,  tall  bi^ds  with  dreamy  eyes, 
That  look  at  you,  dear,  in  mute  surprise, 

While  we  stand  by  the  gate, 
And  watch  and  wait, 
And  watch — and  wait ! 


A  SLUMBER  SONG.  63 


If  you  open  the  gate,  no  one  will  know; 

The  guard  will  never  guess. 
You  must  open  it  gently,  slowly — so ! 

No  one  has  heard,  unless 
Those  dreamful  birds,  or  the  dreamland  sheep, 
Heard  you  stealing  through  their  land  of  sleep 
While  I  stood  by  the  gate, 
To  watch  and  wait. 
And  watch — and  wait ! 

Oh,  strange  are  the  birds  and  the  sheep  that  dwell 

Here  in  the  land  of  dreams ! 
But  you  must  not  see,  and  you  must  not  tell, 

However  strange  it  seems, 
Or  they'll  never  let  you  in  again, 
And  it  would  not  please  you,  baby,  then, 
Just  to  stand  by  the  gate, 
And  watch,  and  wait, 
And  watch — and  wait ! 


64  BEFORE  THE  FIRE. 


BEFORE  THE  FIRE. 

THE  winds  go  riding  down  the  wold, 
And  back  the  forest  legions  throw; 
A  winter  day  the  hours  has  told 

On  rosaries  of  drops  of  snow. 
Through  close-drawn  blinds  the  lamplight  falls, 

And  on  a  drifted  whiteness  lies, 
While  here  within  these  cottage  walls 

The  flames  make  stars  of  baby's  eyes. 

Rude  fingers  tap  upon  the  pane 

And  entrance  at  the  door  demand; 
The  storm  king  and  his  lusty  train 

Go  rushing  o'er  the  land; 
But  homes  where  love  a  vigil  keeps 

Know  not  that  summer  ever  dies, 
Know  not  that  summer  even  sleeps, 

When  flames  make  stars  of  baby's  eyes. 


BEFORE  THE  FIRE.  65 


The  father  to  the  mother  reads, 

The  mother  busy  at  his  side; 
He  reads  a  tale  of  noble  deeds, 

Of  men  who  for  a  nation  died, 
But  oft  they  turn  and  fondly  look 

Upon  the  hero  whom  they  prize 
Beyond  the  people  of  the  book, 

Where  flames  make  stars  of  baby's  eyes. 

Fierce  winds  may  ride  across  the  night, 

And  storms  prevail  o'er  flood  and  field, 
But  where  one  lamp  throws  out  its  light, 

A  happy  picture  is  revealed 
Of  two,  who  by  the  fireside  sit, 

And  watch  the  glowing  flames,  while  rise 
Quick  shadows  that  around  them  flit 

And  mock  the  stars  in  baby's  eyes. 


66  OCTOBER. 


OCTOBER. 


THE  year  is  getting  older,  day  by  day; 
Last  night  I  heard  a  fierce  wind  riding  by, 
Rattling  my  western  window,  and  no  ray 
Of  moon  or  star  illumined  the  black  sky. 


Older  the  year  has  grown;  the  wind  that  came 
Across  the  changing  world  last  night  to  ride, 

Passed  here  a  year  ago;  it  is  the  same 

That  rose  before  and  summer's  strength  defied. 

Ah,  it  is  you,  my  old,  familiar  friend 

October,  come  to  pitch  your  tents  awhile, 

Madly  descending  from  the  earth's  far  end 
Over  the  farthest  seas  for  many  a  mile. 

Yet  your  fierce  advent  and  your  winds  severe 
Are  but  the  bluster  of  a  friend  we  love; 

Though  you  are  winter's  neighbor  you  bring  here 
Rich  gifts,  and  hang  your  bluest  skies  above. 


OCTOBER.  67 


To-morrow  you  will  tame  your  restless  steeds 
And  drive  the  water-freighted  clouds  away; 

Then  you  will  scatter  far  the  wild-flower's  seeds 
At  intervals  throughout  a  peaceful  day. 

Still,  though  your  skies  may  be  the  summer's  own, 
Of  all  your  moods  I  like  the  wildest  best; 

I  love  the  wind  and  its  mad,  warring  tone, 
Its  anger,  and  its  yearning  and  unrest; 

For  in  man's  soul  there  is  an  answering  mood, 

A  passionate  storm  with  wind  and  driving  rain 

All  through  a  night — love  by  dull  pain  pursued, 

Then  days  when  skies  are  kind  and  blue  again,— 

Blue,  but  they  shed  their  bitter,  biting  frost, 
And  the  sun  burns  with  but  a  mocking  heat, 

While  ghost-like  zephyrs  seek  for  something  lost, 
Like  followers  in  the  summer's  slow  retreat. 


68  "IN  WINTER  I  WAS  BORN." 


"IN  WINTER  I  WAS  BORN." 

I  N  winter  I  was  born, 

So  all  my  years  I've  loved  the  frost  and  snow 
And  the  strong  tireless  winds  that,  passing^blow 
A  battle  note  forlorn. 

I  love  the  year's  long  night. 
The  tumult  of  great  storms,  the  biting  air 
Make  my  heart's  summer  time,  when  days  are  fair 

And  yield  me  true  delight. 

In  winter  I  was  born, 
And  as  I  came  so  let  me  pass  away, 
Out  from  the  world  on  a  December  day 

When  the  delaying  morn 

In  the  far  East  shall  creep 
Last  time  for  me;  then  let  the  winds  I  love 
Come  from  their  far-off  homes  and  play  above 

The  place  where  I  shall  sleep. 


GOOD  NIGHT  AND  PLEASANT  DREAMS.     69 


GOOD  NIGHT  AND  PLEASANT  DREAMS. 

(jOOD-NIGHT  and  pleasant  dreams! 
Forgotten  all  that  play-day  world  of  yours, 
Kind  angels  lead  you  now  by  distant  shores; 

Dear  childish  hands  clasped  lightly  o'er  your  breast, 

Dear  eyes  with  lids  that  keep  the  dark  away, 
What  sweet  content  is  now  by  you  possessed ! 
I  feel  your  breath  against  my  cheek  and  say 
Good-night,  good-night! 
Good-night  and  pleasant  dreams! 

Good-night  and  pleasant  dreams ! 
The  children's  lives  so  different  are  from  ours, 
Is  there  not  made  for  them  a  land  of  flowers, — 

A  childhood's  land  of  sleep  where  they  are  taken, — 
Where  dreams  are  only  dreams  of  childish  toys 
And  only  sounds  of  childish  voices  waken 

The  quiet  ways,  and  say  to  girls  and  boys 
Good-night,  good-night ! 
Good-night  and  pleasant  dreams ! 


70     GOOD  NIGHT  AND  PLEASANT  DREAMS. 

Good-night  and  pleasant  dreams! 
Go  to  your  quiet  land  of  sleep  and  dreaming, 
Beyond  the  darkness,  passed  the  stars  a-gleaming. 
The  plains  of  your  sleep-land  are  green  and  fair; 

Out  of  the  night  they  make  a  land  of  morning 
From  which  is  banished  even  childish  care; 

Stay  on,  sleep  on,  dear  child,  the  night  world  scorn- 
ing,— 

Good-night,  good-night ! 
Good-night  and  pleasant  dreams! 

Good-night  and  pleasant  dreams ! 
Good-bye,  and  gentle  angels  guard  your  sleep, 
Good-night,  and  angels  watch  above  you  keep. 
Ah,  if  we  could  our  childish  days  prolong — 

If  sleep  would  always  come  as  sweet  as  this, 
Shielding  us  from  the  world  of  dark  and  wrong, 
Just  by  the  magic  of  a  mother's  kiss, 
And  her  good-night ! 
Good-night  and  pleasant  dreams ! 


WHERE  LOVE   WAS  NOT.  71 


WHERE  LOVE  WAS  NOT. 

ONCE  in  a  dream  I  saw  a  blackened  world 
Hung  high  in  space,  by  bitter  winds  o'erblown; 
And  there  no  forests  were,  no  flowers  grew, 
No  river  flowed,  out  all  was  sad  and  drear. 
And  on  that  smoke- encircled  sphere  there  were 
No  cities  full  of  life;  no  children  spent 
Glad  hours  in  play;  there,  laughter  ne'er  was  heard, 
And   day  was  endless  day,  and  night  ne'er  came 
With  tired  husband  seeking  home  and  wife, 
And  "home"  was  but  a  mocking  echo  there. 

And  walking  o'er  that  world  I  met  a  man, 

Or  ghost  of  what  was  man,  wan,  staring-eyed, 

And  bowed  as  though  with  age,  albeit  his  locks 

Were  fair,  and  seeming  youthful  was  his  face; 

And  unto  him  I  said  in  question:  "Why 

This  waste  and  desolation,  and  where  are 

The  people  that  once  dwelt  upon  this  world? 

And  slow  he  made  reply:  "But  yesterday 

Did  Love  remove  his  court  from  this  drear  globe, 


72  WHERE  LOVE  WAS  NOT. 

Which  was  as  fair  a  world  as  ever  came 
From  the  Creator's  hand,  and  now,  so  soon, 
That  Love  is  flown  has  come  this  awful  change — 
The  cheerlessness,  the  people  dead  and  gone. " 

He  turned  from  me,  it  seemed,  and  I  awoke — 
Back  in  a  world  that  is  controlled  by  Love. 


DOWN  THE  AISLES.  73 

DOWN  THE  AISLES. 

LONE  here  in  vague  cathedral  gloom  I  sit, 
Far  from  the  busy  city's  noise  and  jar. 
Such  calm !  It  seems  God  might  just  now  have  writ 
A  new,  sweet  song  of  peace  and  whispered  it 
From  star  to  star. 

I  almost  hear  a  sacred  anthem  pealing, 

As  o'er  the  quiet  aisles  I  turn  my  eyes; 
It  seems  I  hear  soft  prayers  to  heaven  stealing 
Up  rays  that  lead  unto  the  Light -revealing 
In  Paradise. 

I  think:  "How  oft  have  feet  of  mourners  led 

Down  these  long  aisles  where  perfect  silence  reigns ! 
How  oft  have  heart-uniting  words  been  said 
There  at  the  altar,  whither  flowers  were  spread 
From  Love's  fair  plains ! 

Yes,  Death  and  Love  have  hither  come  and  gone, 

With  slow,  sad  songs,  with  anthems  glad  and  free; 
And   still,  without,  the  world  treads  on  and  on 
In  aisles  that  lead  to  darkness — or  the  Dawn, 
O  God,  and  Thee ! 


74  RUIN. 


R-UIN. 

THE  slowly  crumbling  wall,  the  broken  gate, 
O'er  which  soft  silvery  threads  of  Time  are  spun; 
Through  turrets  tall,  once  grim  and  stern  as  Fate, 
Now  unresisted  steals  the  changeless  sun. 

The  eager  vines  close  clasp  the  pillars  round, 
As  though  to  hide  the  signs  of  their  decay; 

The  cheerless  chambers  echo  with  each  sound 
That  enters  in  where  Silence  holds  her  sway. 

Upon  the  ground,  with  torn  and  riven  crust, 

There  rests  the  cuirass  of  some  daring  knight, 

Enfolding  but  the  cold,  unspeaking  dust 

Of  him  who  nevermore  shall  lead  the  fight. 

And  here  the  chariot -furrowed  roadway  lies, 
Once  trod  by  armies  rich  in  valorous  deeds, 

Now  haunted  by  the  lonely  wind  which  sighs 

And  creeps  among  the  dead  and  tangled  weeds. 


RUIN.  75 

Ruin  and  ruins  everywhere,  but  yet, 

In  fancy,  see  the  myriad  castles  tall 
Whereon  the  banners  fair  of  Hope  are  set, 

Then  watch  the  wreck  and  ruin  of  it  all ! 

Forsaken  cities  far  beyond  the  sea 

Hold  not  such  claim  to  pity  as  do  those 

Grand  dwellings  youth  rears  in  such  majesty 
To  crumble  and  form  sepulchres  for  woes. 

O  memory!  keep  and  guard  your  treasures  well; 

Contented  rest,  and.  what  the  past  endears, 
Unto  the  ever  hopeful  future  tell, 

And  voice  your  glories  through  the  coming  years. 


76  HALF  FLIGHTS. 


HALF  FLIGHTS. 

I  think  it  were  better  that  lips  should  forever  be  mute 
Than  flattering  the  voice  should  sound,  or  the  speech  irres- 
olute. 

And  better  that  arrows  fly  far  past  the  mark,  over-shot, 
Than  but  timidly  sent  they  should  droop  and  transfix   it   not. 

The  race  should  be  vigorously  pushed,  though  uneven  the  start, 
And  always,  wherever  assigned,  let  us  act  well  the  part, 
Let  firm  be  the  footstep  to  tally  with  firm  beat  of  heart. 

But  more  willing  am  I  forever  to  steadily  plod, 
Inspired  by  a  thought  that  my  soul  is  not  linked  to  a  clod, 
Than  failing  in  flight,  to  fall,  stricken  again  to  the  sod, 
And  stumble  along  in  the  pathway  that  leads  me  to  God. 


A  KIND  OF  MAN.  77 

A  KIND  OF  MAN. 

I  like  a  man  who  all  mean  things  despises, 
A  man  who  has  a  purpose  firm  and  true; 
Who  faces  every  doubt  as  it  arises, 
And  murmurs  not  at  what  he  finds  to  do. 

I  like  a  man  who  shows  the  noble  spirit 
Displayed  by  knights  of  Arthur's  table  round; 
Who,  face  to  face  with  life,  proves  his  real  merit, 
Who  has  a  soul  that  dwells  above  the  ground; 

And  yet,  one  who  can  understand  the  worry 
Of  some  chance  brother  fallen  in  the  road, 
And  speak  to  him  a  kind  word  'mid  the  hurry, 
Or  lay  an  easing  hand  upon  his  load. 

Large  hearted,  brave-souled  men  to-day  are  needed, 
Men  ready  when  occasion's  doors  swing  wide; 
Grand  men  to  speak  the  counsel,  that  is  heeded, 
And  men  in  whom  a  nation  may  confide. 

The  world  is  wide,  and  broad  its  starry  arches, 
But  lagging  malcontents  it  cannot  hold; 
The  way  of  life  to  him  who  upright  marches, 
Has  ending  in  a  far-off  street  of  gold. 


78  TRANSFIGURED. 


TRANSFIGURED. 


6  6    A     cold,  hard  man   I  said,"  as  day  by  day 

•**   I  saw  him  pass  the  door,  or,  brooding,  sit 
Before  his  cottage,  watching  children  play 
The  summer's  lingering  twilight  hours  away — 

Ever  uncouth  and  grim,  with  brows  close  knit. 

Until,  one  day,  a  wondrous  change  took  place; 

Upon  the  door  the  sign  of  mourning,  and 
His  child  lay  dead!  But,  by  what  heavenly  grace 
Did  all  the  hardened  lines  fade  from  his  face, 
Leaving  of  former  self  no  slightest  trace, 

As  with  sweet  Grief  he  journeyed,  hand  in  hand? 


LOVE'S  POWER.  79 


LOVE'S  POWER. 

WITHIN  the  palace  of  a  brain 
A  Thought  of  Love  dwelt  all  alone, 
And  there  was  not  another  Thought 

That  ever  dared  approach  his  throne; 

Until  there  came  a  Thought  of  Hate, 
Half-crouching  to  the  sacred  seat, 

But,  Thought  of  Love  stretched  forth  a  hand, 
And  Thought  of  Hate  died  at  his  feet. 


8o  FIRE-HUNTING. 


FIRE-HUNTING. 

WITH  dip  and  glide  a  light  canoe 
Crept  through  the  waters  of  the  lake; 
So  softly,  lightly  creeping  through 
That  it  did  not  the  silence  break. 

A  lantern's  penetrating  glow 

Burned  in  the  dark  a  path  of  light, 

And  far-off,  on  its  margin,  lo ! 

A  pair  of  eyes  gleamed  strangely  bright ! 

The  paddling  ceased;  there  fell  a  hush. 

Then  came  a  ringing  rifle-shot — 
A  plunge  into  the  underbrush — 

Upon  the  beach  a  dark  blood-clot ! 

With  dip  and  glide  a  light  canoe 

Crept  through  the  waters  of  the  lake, 

So  softly,  lightly  creeping  through 
That  it  did  not  a  ripple  make. 


"HEARTACttE"  81 


"HEARTACHE." 

j  Lines  naming  a  landscape  painted  by  Mr.  Theodore  C.  Steele,  owned 
by  Mr.  Louis  C.  Gibson.] 

A    LTHOUGH  the  fields  of  summer  time  are  dear 
*V     And  fair  the  days  of  sunshine-flooded  hours 
We  would  not  always  have  the  summer  here, — 
We  tire  of  flowers. 


Let  come  a  short  October  afternoon, 

Or  yet  a  dreary  day  November  sends ; — 
A  mist  hangs  o'er  the  tired  earth,  and  soon 
The  night  descends. 

Like  some  cowled  monk  grown  weary  of  the  world, 

The  evening  creeps  along  in  somber  guise, 
Her  face  in  misty  shadows  thickly  furled 
To  hide  her  eyes. 

O  heartache  of  the  earth,  so  near  to  us 

These  barren  fields  have  on  a  sudden  grown! 
Cool  hand  of  twilight  touch  us — tremulous, 
Sick  and  alone. 


"HEARTACHE" 


O  skies  of  gray,  come  often  in  our  need ! 

Come  fall,  O  mists,  efface  the  marks  of  tears, — 
The  lessons  of  our  heartache  with  us  read, 
And  soothe  our  fears! 

Dear  barren  field,  we  lay  our  hearts  on  thine, 

Arid  leafless  shrub,  we  make  thy  grief  our  own  ; 
Come,  Spring,  and  touch  our  hearts  with  life  divine, 
All  heartache  flown ! 


FRIENDSHIPS  SA  CRAMENT.  83 


FRIENDSHIP'S  SACRAMENT. 

WHEN  I've  partaken  of  your  bread  and  wine, 
And  paused  awhile  beneath  your  friendly  roof, 
Good  thoughts  and  honest  purposes  are  mine, 
Awhile  from  trivial  things  I  stand  aloof. 

It  is  a  sacrament  of  friendship  there, 

When  I've  partaken  of  your  bread  and  wine; 
I  feel  in  touch  with  all  things  sweet  and  fair; 

My  pilgrimage  is  to  a  true  home's  shrine. 

Like  the  lost  Arab,  when  his  host  will  bring        , 
The  bit  of  cake,  the  salt  in  friendly  sign, 

When  I've  partaken  of  your  bread  and  wine 
Across  my  desert  rose  and  lotus  spring, 

And  in  my  heart  there  is  a  genial  glow. 

To-night  above  me  starry  heavens  shine, 
Yet  out  of  clouds  the  brightest  stars  will  grow 

When  I've  partaken  of  your  bread  and  wine. 


84  OMAR  KHAYYAM. 


OMAR  KHAYYAM. 

KING  of  the  wise  who,  long  ago, 
Your  tents  built  in  the  Persian  sand, 
Let  me  your  sweet  contentment  know, 
Here  in  my  vigorous  Western  land. 

Some  day,  when  I  shall  stand  beside 

The  grave  where  you  have  lain  so  long — 

At  Nishapur  your  body  died, 

But  your  soul  lives  in  tender  song — 

I'll  pour  upon  your  tomb  the  wine 

Some  Western  grape  has  given  me; 

I'll  speak  some  verse,  some  flowing  line 
Born  here,  beyond  the  Western  sea. 

And  may  the  time  be  early  night 

When  torches  in  the  desert  glow, 

And  in  dim  tents  appears  a  light, 

While  sounds  the  camel's  moaning,  low. 


OMAR  KHA  YYAM.  85 

Then  I  would  be  at  Nishapur, 

To  stand  in  reverent  pause  and  be 
One  happy  hour  a  worshiper, 

Your  grave  a  Mecca  made  for  me. 

Oh,  my  beloved,  I  shall  taste 

The  grape's  blood,  as  your  songs  have  said, 
And  pour  it  on  the  desert's  waste, 

A  tribute  to  the  ghostly  dead 

Whose  spirits  hover  there,  and  plan 

Strange  journeys  that  can  never  end, 

But,  in  a  ghostly  caravan, 

For  ages  through  the  past  extend. 

O,  Muezzin,  from  the  Tower  of  Night, 

Look  you  toward  the  tomb  of  him 
Who  yearned  in  song  for  greater  light 

And  found  it  at  the  goblet's  brim! 

Forget  him  not,  because  he  keeps 

Such  silence;  guard  in  light  and  gloom 

Until  I  reach  the  place  he  sleeps, 

With  wine  to  pour  upon  his  tomb. 


86  A  DISCOVERY. 


A  DISCOVERY. 

[According  to  a  Child.] 

I  have  just  discovered  what  makes  bread  white, 
And  why  the  loaves  are  so  porous  and  light. 

We  plant  the  seed  in  fall-time  in  the  ground, 

And  all  the  winter  long  they  grow  and  grow, 

And  when  the  fields  and  woods  are  winter-bound, 
The  tiny  blades  are  green  beneath  the  snow. 

And  then  in  summer-time,  when  winter's  dead, 
The  ripened  wheat  is  ground  to  flour,  and  so 

When  that  light  flour  is  made  up  into  bread, 
We  see  within  the  loaves  the  winter's  snow. 

And  that  is  the  reason  why  bread  is  white, 

And  why  the  loaves  are,  so  porous  and  light  1 


SONNETS 


A  MODERN  PURITAN. 


A  MODERN  PURITAN. 

AS  though  Priscilla  had  smoothed  out  the  frown 
She  had  for  all  things  that  were  worldly-wise — 
As  though  she  stood  again  'neath  softer  skies 
Than  on  the  bleak  New  England   rocks   looked  down, 
And  all  the  sorrows  of  that  time  could  drown, — 
Thus  comes  one,  unaustere,  with  kindly  eyes, 
Stepping  from  out  the  past's  dim  tapestries, 
A  Puritan  with  purity  her  crown. 

Yet,  not  the  shy  reserve  that  marks  her  ways 
Nor  lines  of  strength  denoted  in  her  face 

O'er  which  the  sweetest  light  'neath  heaven  plays, 
Compel  our  love,  but  traces  of  the  race 

That  passes  down  its  grandeur  to  our  days, 

Seeking  the  good  and  spurning  all  things  base! 


90  THE  LAW  OF  LIFE. 


THE  LAW  OF  LIFE. 

[To  Mr.  Charles  H.  Ham,  author  of  "Manual  Training".] 

UT 

LABOR  the  law  of  life,"  that  is  your  creed; 

Once  it  was  true  that  art  meant  only  grace, 
"A  pretty  flower  this  is,"  "a  glorious  face," 
Men  said,  and  so  interpreting,  did  heed 
No  higher  call  than  came  from  shepherd's  reed: 

The  brawny  arm  was  for  the  warrior's  mace, 
The  supple  limb  was  for  the  champion's  race, 
But  higher,  better  things  were  lost  indeed ! 

Now,  in  this  newer  day,  what  change  is  wrought ! 

We  know  the  law  of  life  is  labor;  so 
The  hand  and  mind  in  unison  are  taught, 

With  each  the  other's  ready  servant.   Lo ! 
What  a  grand  world  will  swing  beneath  the  sun 
When  Heart  and  Hand  and  Mind  are  all  in  one! 


TO  EUGENE  FIELD  IN  ENGLAND.          91 


TO  EUGENE  FIELD  IN  ENGLAND. 

GOOD  poet  of  the  city  by  the  lake, 
Critic  and  satirist  I  wave  a  hand 
And  send  this  greeting  over  sea  and  land — 
That  kindest  spirits  round  you  tend,  and  make 
Your  ready  feet  to  walk  in  Chaucer's  wake, 

And  in  the  paths  of  Keats  and  Shelley  stand; 
Or  where  the  master  of  all  singers  planned 
His  songs,  may  your  heart  inspiration  take. 

Where  Dobson's flowers  find  root  in  "paven  ground," 
And  Andrew  Lang  and  Walter  Pater  bide, 

I  know  that  there  for  you  a  joy  is  found. 
Cease  not  your  western  Pegasus  to  ride, 

And  when  old  book  plates  and  rare  volumes  bore, 

Quit  London's  fog  and  dwell  with  us  once  more. 


92  DEPENDENCE. 


DEPENDENCE. 

WHEN  a  kind  parent  first  his  children  guides 
Into  a  bit  of  world  they  have  not  seen, 
Though  often  told  about  its  meadows  green, 
Or  of  some  evil  thing  that  there  abides, 
Their  father's  fearful  care  each  one  derides; 

His  guarded  pace  to  them  seems  slow  and  mean 
Till  sudden,  they  go  hurrying  back  to  lean 
Against  his  surer,  stronger  heart. 

The  sides 
Of  mountains  where  men's  daring  feet  would  go 

Alluring  are,  because  no  man  has  trod; 
The  restful  slopes  are  tempting  from  below, 

Yet  seekers  will  not  in  the  safe  paths  plod; 
Like  the  weak  children  they  are  taught  to  know 

That  man  must  always  follow  after  God. 


BY  SHERIDAWS  GRAVE.  93 


BY  SHERIDAN'S  GRAVE. 

I    STOOD  upon  the  heights  at  Arlington, 
And  saw  Potomac's  waters  seaward  flowing, 
While  all  about  me,  past  our  human  knowing 
The  soldiers  lay — men  who  that  soil  had  won 
From  enemies  as  brave,  who  would  not  shun 

The  wrath  that  followed  on  their  whirlwind  sowing, 
And  there  among  their  graves  the  flowers  were  grow- 
ing, 
And  on  Virginia  shone  the  springtime  sun. 

Here  lies  the  idol  of  my  boyish  dreaming, 
Beside  the  storied  river  that  had  known 

The  camp-fires  of  a  mighty  army,  gleaming 

Where  peace  to-day  her  snowy  scarf  has  thrown. 

Sleep,  Sheridan,  beyond  this  world  of  seeming, 
Your  spirit  guard  this  valley  as  its  own ! 


94  VIKING. 


VIKING. 

[Written  In  Du  Chaillu's  Viking  Age.] 

WHAT  has  been  stolen  from  time's  jealous  hand, — 
A  newer  Greece  washed  by  the  Baltic's  tide 
Where  fire  of  Northern  genius  burned  and  died; 
Where  long-dethroned  gods  ruled  o'er  the  land 
And  warriors  fought  with  sword  and  threatening  brand? 
Was  it  these  rugged  shores  that  once  defied 
The  world  as^it  was  known  to  them  and  tried 
Adventurous  keels  on  many  an  unknown  strand? 

Parents  of  mighty  nations,  kings  of  the  sea ! 

Fair-haired,  strong-limbed  path-blazers  of  the  deep ! 
How  full  a  life  was  theirs,  how  broad  and  free, — 
Passing  one  day  Gibraltar's  tropic  steep, 

Seeking  a  while  some  Northern  coast  and  drear, 
Or  sailing  far  to  find  the   Western  hemisphere ! 


VIOLIN.  95 


VIOLIN. 

/"">  ENTLY,  beneath  her  perfect  rounded  chin, 

^— •*•     The  instrument  is  clasped,  as  mothers  hold 

Across  their  hearts  a  much-loved  child,  to  fold 

It  from  the  world  of  misery  and  sin. 

She  draws  the  bow  across  the  strings  to  win 

To  life  the  tones  now   soft,  now   strong  and  bold, 
(But  ever  breathing  some  grand  truth  untold) 

That  dormant  lie  within  the  violin. 

O,  mystery  of  music,  wondrous  art ! 

The  sympathetic  violin  but  steals 
The  loves  and  hates  that  dwell  within  her  heart — 

The  very  hopes,  the  vague  desires  she  feels — 
And  at  the  bow's  quick  touch  they  rise  and  start 

In  melody  that  inmost  soul  reveals. 


96  WHAT  THE  BABIES  SAY. 


WHAT  THE  BABIES  SAY. 

WHAT  things  the  babies  say  are  listened  to 
As  if  the  little  heads  were  brimming  o'er 
With  pretty  fancies,  such  as  ne'er  before 
Took  form  in  human  mind — as  if  they  knew 
The  glories  of  the  world,  or  false  or  true. 

And  with  their  careless-clutching  fingers  tore 
From  Miss  Pandora's  box  the  bitter  store 
(If  pleased)  and  handed  out  the  sweets  to  you. 

O  baby  lips,  whose  lispings  we  repeat, 
O  baby  tongue,  so  eager  in  attaining 

The  power  through  which  your  wishes  may  be 

heard; 
May  you  remain  forever  pure  and  sweet, 

And  ne'er  in  anger  move,  but  uncomplaining, 
And  ever  by  the  noblest  promptings  stirred. 


SECRETS. 


97 


SECRETS. 

HOW  well  her  many  secrets  nature  keeps 
And  never  tells  to  us  by  word  or  sign, — 
The  hidden  source  whence  comes  life-giving  wine 
Which  through  the  trees  in  springtime  tingling  creeps; 
The  dwelling-place  from  which  the  wind  low  sweeps, 
His  stalwart  forest  legions  to  align 
With  leadership  of  giant  oak  or  pine — 
She  tells  us  not  but,  brooding  silent,  sleeps. 

So,  safely  locked  within  the  human  heart, 

Are  joys  and  sorrows  of  the  long  ago, 
As  hidden  springs  from  which  the  sad  tears  start 

When  we  scarce  know  the  power  that  moves  their  flow; 
And  we  from  all  the  world  are  set  apart 

By  precious  secrets  none  may  ever  know. 


BLIND. 


BLIND. 

AS  one  who  in  a  cavern  underground 
Can  hear  the  jars  and  murmurings  which  tell 
That  far  away  a  busy  people  dwell, 
Not  hearing,  only  knowing  by  the  sound, 
So  dwells  he  in  a  world  by  darkness  bound; 

He  hears  and  feels,  but  no  dawn  can  dispell 
The  night  for  him  on  whom  no  light  e'er  fell 
With  power  to  drive  away  the  night  profound. 

But  not  for  aye  he  walks  the  realm  of  night, 
For  one  day  there  will  break  upon  his  eyes 

A  flood  of  rarer,  dark  o'ercoming  light 

Than  ever  flushed  the  arch  of  earthly  skies, 

And  for  him  dawn  a  morning  wondrous  bright 
Within  the  garden  lands  of  Paradise. 


A  FANCY.  99 


A  FANCY. 

7  TV  TEATH  sullen  skies  the  marshalled  clouds  parade; 
1  N    The  Autumn  wind  sighs  a  weird  monotone 
In  which  I  hear,  in  fancy,  softly  blown, 

The  stirring  bugle  notes  that  once  were  played 

To  mocking  echoes  in  a  Southern  glade; 

I  hear  the  sentinel's  quick  challenge  tone — 
The  noise  and  stir  of  war,  all  backward  thrown 

Across  the  gulf  that  peaceful  years  have  made. 

But  long  ago  the  clouds  of  war  had  spent 

Their  fury;  sounds  of  strife  no  longer  fill 

The  field  whereon  sweet  peace  has  spread  her  tent — 
But  those  same  bugle  tones  are  sounding  still, 

And  ringing  through  the  starry  firmament, 

Whilst  Memory's  camp-fires  blaze  upon  the  hill. 


THOREA  U. 


THOREAU. 

A  prince  he  was,  yet  scorning  princely  ways, 
A  priest  of  nature,  simple  and  sincere, 
To  whom  the  wild  free  things  were  far  more  dear 
Than  trammeling  honors  gathered  of  the  days 
That  only  served  to  show  him  some  new  phase 

In  life  of  flower  and  tree;  whose  greatest  cheer 
Came  when  the  seasons  changed  and  he  would  hear 
The  blue  bird's  note  or  see  the  woods  ablaze. 

Though  joining  not  in  endless  race  with  men, 
And  caring  not  to  lift  life's  heavy  load; — 
Of  quiet  life,  of  solitude  though  fond, 
I  love  to  read  the  thoughts  traced  by  his  pen, 
And  fancy  that  I  walk  Marlborough  road 

Or  rest  with  him  by  peaceful  Walden  pond. 


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